


Rose Potter and the Brother's Keeper

by Luna_Bass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22892734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Bass/pseuds/Luna_Bass
Summary: Lily Evans Potter dies to protect her son and daughter. Under the malicious eyes of their aunt and uncle, Harry is raised by a sister barely older than he is, and Rose finds herself lost and alone in a big world. But somehow, she still has so much left to lose...
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Percy Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	1. Prologue: The Girl Under the Crib

**Author's Note:**

> Not your typical "Harry has a sibling" story, at least, I hope. I was going to wait until the second chapter was ready before posting this, but I just got too excited!

_November 1_ _st_ _, 1981, at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 7:54 AM._

The morning light that crept into the headmaster's office made the flickering candles look dull – against all odds, there was no rain or snow yet that day. It was the beginning of a bright new dawn, a new future for Britain, for the war that had stormed for many long years was finally over.

Albus Dumbledore, who sat at his desk with a flagon of mulled cider, had not slept a wink all of last night, and Minerva McGonnagal, who sat across from him, hadn't either. There was much work to be done, even with the war being over, and chief among them was deciding what was to be done with the orphaned children of Lily and James Potter.

“And you think that is why Harry survived?” Minerva asked Dumbledore softly, careful not to wake the sleeping little ones nearby. Just a few feet away on a fluffy purple sofa, there lay a little girl just four years old, clutching a stuffed owl, and by her head, a baby boy swaddled in a basket, also fast asleep.

Dumbledore removed his halfmoon glasses and rubbed his tired eyes as he answered, “It's the best hypothesis I have. In all my years, I've never seen anything like this, Minerva. I doubt even Nicholas has. This is the kind of magic you don't dare touch, because it might break you.”

But even with the impossibility of the baby Harry's survival, the hardest and most painful thing Dumbledore had found himself forced to do last night, was explain to the young, so _very_ young Rose Potter that her mummy and daddy were dead, and she was never, ever going to see them again. He had seen the little Rose born at this very school while her mother was still taking her NEWTs – he hadn't thought his heart could break any further than it had already, but life always found new ways to shock him.It was almost enough to make him wish he were dead, too.

Rose stirred a little in her sleep as the sunlight filtered through the window and hit her eyelids. Hagrid had said that when he came to the house, he found her cowering underneath her brother's crib behind a pile of blankets, where her mother had told her to go until the 'bad man' was gone. James and Lily Potter both lay dead, but Rose and Harry were unharmed, save for a cut on the boy's head in a strange shape.

“So far as I can tell, I think that as long as they are together, they _should_ be safe from anyone who might want to harm them.”

“But?” Minerva prompted, sensing his indecision. He wondered when it was that the scrawny little Scottish girl he'd taught so long ago had become so very intuitive and wise.

“I don't know if this will guarantee the safety of both. Lily died to protect her daughter _and_ her son, whether one can protect the other and still be protected themselves...” Dumbledore trailed off, leaving Minerva to draw her own conclusions.

Minerva's brow furrowed and her lips thinned. She took a desperate gulp of her mulled cider before continuing. “The law won't let their godfather take charge of them, however much he wants to. And with Peter dead, and of course _Sirius_... What about the Longbottoms?”

“You're not even willing to consider their relatives?”

“Lily's parents died last June, and she told me her sister became a stranger to her after she started going to Hogwarts,” Minerva snapped, and then took a few breaths to calm herself. “Pardon me if I have doubts about said sister being willing to take in Lily's children after all these years apart.”

“They're _both_ in danger, Minerva, and this magic is old and unpredictable. I don't want to risk the protection choosing one sibling over the other.”

“Lily wouldn't have wanted it to _choose_! Surely that counts for something, so -”

“And for all we know, she didn't even realize she was doing this. Magic may be about intent, but it also has a logic of its own, one that even we who are privileged to wield it aren't privy to. There are still hundreds of the enemy still roaming loose, Minerva. Are you willing to take even the slightest chance that one could find them, one skilled enough to get past whatever protections we put in place?”

Minerva gripped her cup. “Some would call you paranoid, Albus.”

“But you know I'm right.”

Silence, and a glance at the girl on the couch (the little girl who had already been through _so much_ ), were her only answer.

_**~RP~** _

_January 4_ _th_ _, 1982, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. 3:00 PM._

It was a sunny afternoon when a gentle knock sounded at the front door of Number 4 Privet Drive, but there was scattered, leftover snow from the day before, and the wind was nonetheless brisk and biting. One Petunia Dursley opened the door to find an old man in a flamboyant lemon yellow satin suit with orange polka dots, holding in one arm a baby in a starry blue blanket and a fuzzy wool hat, and with his other hand laid gently on the shoulder of a small child bundled up to their eyes in jackets, jumpers, hats and scarves of various colors.

“Ah, Petunia! It's been such a long time – look at how much you've grown!” Albus Dumbledore said cheerfully. “It's a bit nippy outside, might we come in for a chat? There is a matter of grave importance that I'm afraid we must discuss.”

Petunia stood frozen for a few moments before quickly trying to shut the door in the headmaster's face. Jamming his steel-toed boot in the door, Dumbledore didn't let his genial smile slide from his face one inch (though he was truthfully in some pain – the door had missed the metal toe and slammed into his foot proper).

“What do you want?” Petunia did not ease up on her pressure on the door, leaning on it with her full weight. Magic was a wonderful thing, but he was still nearly a hundred, and she could still end up breaking his foot if she kept this up. It seemed like he would have to break the information to her a little less gently than he had hoped.

“Petunia, I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of such terrible news.” She stopped pushing, and warily met his eyes through the door. “Something has happened to your sister and her husband. You see -”

He didn't need to finish. The door was yanked open, and Petunia hissed, “Just shut up and get in before the neighbors start looking!”

It was a touch late for that, Dumbledore mused as he ushered Rose inside ahead of him, for there were already a few older busybodies peeping through lacy curtains, including Arabella Figg, under his very instructions, to assuage Minerva's concerns. No doubt at least one of the neighbors would be sympathetic enough to come and offer condolences. Whether Petunia would appreciate them was another matter.

She might've been harsher and ruder than she had been as a girl, but she was still a good enough hostess to pour them tea. Petunia pointedly ignored Rose, who looked curiously around at the Muggle house, apparently intrigued by the lack of twinkling lights and the motionless pictures on the walls.

“What is it, then?” Petunia asked bluntly as she sat to take her own tea, her face planted in a grimace and her focus entirely on dumping as many sugar cubes into her cup as possible.

Dumbledore put four sugars and some cream in Rose's tea (she paid this no attention, jumping instead straight for the shortbread biscuits on the platter, apparently to Petunia's irritation), and added some lemon and honey to his own. “As I was saying,” he began gently, “I'm afraid I have some very terrible news. Lily and James are dead.”

Petunia froze and stared at him, her knuckles white as she clutched her cup. Rose looked between them with a small frown. Perhaps she hadn't connected those names to her parents yet, or else she was wondering what this woman had to do with them.

“How?” Petunia asked hoarsely, rattling the cup and saucer as she put down her cup.

“How much did Lily tell you, about the war in our world?” Rose still remained quiet, dutifully chewing on her biscuit, but her wide eyes betrayed her fear.

“Not much. I only know that there is one. That last time we spoke was at her wedding.” Petunia sneered, glaring down at the innocent girl, her hands clenched into tight fists. Dumbledore slipped Rose's little hand into his. “ _Two_ years ago.”

Doubts surged in him. The rift was clearly much deeper and broader than he had thought, and the way Petunia spoke of her sister's marriage spoke volumes. But, as he scanned the pictures on the wall, he saw she had a child of her own. She was an intelligent, rational woman, she always had been. She wouldn't treat a child badly because of her feelings towards the mother, would she?

“An enemy breached the defenses of their home, on the thirty-first of October. They were killed, but their children are fine, as you can see.” Dumbledore took a sip of his tea, and found it bitter – overbrewed, no doubt. “And I'm afraid there is -”

“No.”

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. “No?”

“I won't do it. I don't want to, and Lily made it clear when the girl was born that _she_ would never want me to.” Petunia picked up her cup and hastily gulped down the rest of her tea. “Besides, there must be any number of others who want them. _Your_ kind. She would've made arrangements, surely?”

“She did. However, a law has been put into place that unfortunately prevents their godfather from taking guardianship of them, and in the past few months I have exhausted the list other possibilities.” He put his hands together, steepling his fingers. “You, as her sister, possess their mother's blood. In terms of, ah, _our_ kind of security, it makes a great deal of difference.

“Even in death, Lily still has many enemies, any of whom would snatch at the chance to take revenge on her children.” Rose, who seemed to have realized that they were talking about her and her brother, looked up from where Harry was clutched on her lap, sucking his thumb, and peered at Petunia's face. “You are their best chance at survival. If they don't have their aunt's protection, they are in grave danger.” He leaned in as close as he dared. “Don't you possess any affection left for her? For your family?”

From her trembling expression and and fragile grip on her own arms, it seemed she did.

It was at this moment that Rose, who hadn't spoken since first falling asleep in Dumbledore's office, finally said something. “But she doesn't look anything like Mummy,” she whispered, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket, “Harry looks like me. Why doesn't she look like Mummy?”

Petunia turned a blank, empty stare to Rose, who met her gaze with a challenging tilt in her little chin. Petunia seemed to become wearier, more tired and more broken.

“The older he gets, the less like you he'll be,” Petunia said quietly. Rose looked doubtful, and returned her attention to Harry as he started to chew on the corner of his blanket.

Petunia turned back to Dumbledore. “You're sure there's no one else? Not one person who'd be happier to have them, be more able?”

“No one,” he lied. It had always disturbed Dumbledore, his own ability to sound just as earnest when he was lying as when he was telling the truth. But this was for their own good, he told himself. Here, they would be safer than they would be anywhere else.

Petunia heaved a sigh, placing her hands flat on the table. “My husband won't be happy.”

“Will it make things difficult?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Not any more than it already will be,” Petunia decided.

“Very well, then.” Dumbledore rose, and produced a tiny suitcase from his pocket. He placed it on the ground, and Petunia jumped as he took his wand and it expanded to its full size. (Rose paid this no attention, and was absorbed in trying to get Harry to sip her tea, spilling it as he pushed it away from his face with his little hands.) “This has all of their belongings. There are some things that Lily and James left them, but those are in the Potter Gringotts vault, accessible when Rose turns eleven.”

Petunia pursed her lips, only nodding to acknowledge that she had heard him. “Will you need help clearing a space for them to sleep tonight?” he asked.

She only waved her hand dismissively. “There's room.”

Unfortunately, this got Rose's attention. “You're _leaving_ us here?” She had stood hastily, tumbling out of her chair with her brother dangling in her arms by his stomach, and he fussed and kicked as Rose scrambled to find a way to hold the infant who was much too heavy for her to carry.

Dumbledore knelt and righted the baby Harry so he wouldn't end up hanging upside-down, putting one of her arms behind his legs and beneath his bottom, and the other on his back to keep him from falling. “Rose, this is your Aunt Petunia. Your home is with her now. I'm very sorry, but you can't stay with me forever.”

“Why?” Rose demanded, her sniffling threatening tears. Dumbledore felt a too-familiar lump in his own throat.

“She's your family, and she can protect you both, Rose. This is a better home than I could possibly give you.”

“Liar!” Rose stomped her foot, jostling poor Harry and making him start to cry. “I don't know her! You can't just leave me here! You can't make me! I won't stay!” Petunia was clutching her cup as she stared at the crying baby, her expression unreadable.

He needed to go, now, before his doubt made him falter. “Rose, you must. You have nowhere else to go, and this is the only place Harry can stay.” That made her bite her lip and look down at her feet.

Knowing she wouldn't leave her little brother, Dumbledore stood and turned to leave. “Don't worry, you'll see me again one day. Just be patient, and be good.” He tousled her black curls, opened the door, and walked away with every ounce of will in his frail old body.

He didn't see Rose's tear-stained face, or her expression of anger, disbelief, confusion, grief and betrayal as her face screwed up to start bawling before Petunia shut the door. He didn't need to see it. Dumbledore knew it was there anyway, and his heart broke again with the _crack_ of his Apparition.


	2. Chapter One: The First Seven Years, Part 1

**Chapter One: The First Seven Years: Part 1**

  
  


Aunt Petunia had ordered Rose up the stairs, taking her to a dusty room full of clutter and empty metal bookshelves. Off to the side was a bed, the kind that Rose had moved to when she first got her bedroom. 

  
  


Rose missed her room – she missed the pink walls and the purple drapes with twinkling stars and the glowing crystal night-light shaped like a unicorn that Daddy had gotten her when she first got her own room. She missed how it would prance around and bleat to the tune of 'On the Way to Baba Yaga's House.' Most of all, she missed Mummy and Daddy; they would never have left her all alone like this, Mummy wouldn't have made her carry Harry all by herself, or threaten to leave him in the cupboard if she didn't, or glare at her like she was an ugly bug...

  
  


“Shut up and stop whining and crying, you stupid girl,” Aunt Petunia snapped, dumping Mr. Purfesser's bag on the ground with a  _ whump _ . “This is where you'll sleep.”

  
  


Rose looked around at the barren white carpet and the ugly walls that looked like sick – she didn't see another bed. “Where'll Harry sleep?”

  
  


“Here.” Aunt Petunia turned to leave. “Dinner's at six. Don't be late, or you'll get nothing!”

  
  


“Wait! Harry hasn't got a bed!”

  
  


Aunt Petunia turned back and glared down at her. “He'll get a bed when he's big enough to need one!” she snarled. 

  
  


“But he had a bed back home!”

  
  


“I don't care! You'll make do with what I give you! The both of you are lucky I don't toss you back out on the street.” Aunt Petunia took hold of the door handle. “Keep the smaller brat quiet – if he wakes up my son, he won't get breakfast.” And then she slammed the door behind her.

  
  


Rose sat a sleepy Harry down on the pillow of the bed with his blanket (which he continued to chew on and soak with spit), and she curled up on the floor with her knees to her chin. She choked back her cries, and tried to sob as quietly as she could.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


Aunt Petunia didn't pay Harry any attention at all, except when he needed a bath or his nappy changed – and that was only because Rose was too small to do it herself. Whenever Rose tried to tell her Harry was hungry or sleepy or upset or wanted his toys, Aunt Petunia would scoff and tell her to take care of it herself, she had better things to do. Such “better things” seemed to mainly include doing all those things for Baby Dudley instead. At every opportunity, Aunt Petunia would coo over the little blond screaming nightmare, and Harry and Rose had to stay up in their room and be quiet at all times, unless there was something Aunt Petunia wanted Rose to do.

  
  


Uncle Vernon wouldn't help her at all either – Rose had hoped he'd be nicer than Aunt Petunia, but when she met him the following morning after first coming to the house, he greeted her with a hot and angry glare that made her feel smaller than ever. She was too scared to ask him for anything after that.

  
  


A week into living in her new home, Rose was still crying herself to sleep at night. She tried to sleep on the floor when she did this – her crying woke Harry up, and then he started crying, and he didn't know not to be loud. 

  
  


She missed Mummy and Daddy so much she hurt – Harry was just a baby and didn't know they were gone, so she had to miss them for him, too. She missed magic; Aunt Petunia had taken all their magic toys and burned them, so Rose was crying for Mr. Who, her hooting plush owl, as well. She'd even taken away the little red train she'd gotten last Christmas from the nice old man they'd stayed with (she hadn't been able to say his name properly, and now she'd forgotten what it was). Now there was no more magic left, and she wasn't allowed to talk about it at all, or she'd miss a meal. 

  
  


Rose had tried to cry and throw a tantrum at first – Mummy and Daddy had  _ never _ made her miss dinner, and  _ never _ locked her in her room! But Uncle Vernon had stood up, and threatened to beat her into the ground, and then Aunt Petunia slapped her and told her to go to her room. Rose, having  _ never _ been slapped before in her  _ life _ , obeyed in stunned silence. It had left the side of her face all red, and it hurt for hours afterward. 

  
  


(Rose had still snuck out, though - Aunt Petunia had taken Uncle Vernon to the kitchen after, and shouted at him. 

  
  


“They're  _ my _ sister's brats,  _ I'll _ punish them how I see fit!  _ You _ don't get to lay one finger on them!” Rose thought they might've thrown things at each other, later, but she'd run away again when Uncle Vernon started yelling, his voice shaking the walls like booming thunder. As she'd cowered in her room, desperately shushing Harry as he cried, Rose thought she might've heard Dudley crying in the distance too.)

  
  


Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, Rose had finally decided, were ugly, mean, and nasty, and they were the worst people she'd ever,  _ ever _ known. She and Harry were all alone – all they had was each other in this horrible house.

  
  


And having come to that conclusion a week after coming to live on Privet Drive, Rose climbed into bed with Harry, and hugged her baby brother close, determined not to cry. Harry was worse off, whether he knew it or not, and he needed her. 

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


Months passed. Rose grew a little, and Aunt Petunia reluctantly bought new clothes for her. Rose didn't get to pick anything, but she was beginning to expect these things from her aunt. Nonetheless, the clothes were very plain, ugly, and itchy, and Rose felt miserable in them. 

  
  


As she grew, so did Aunt Petunia's list of chores. She was set to drying dishes as Aunt Petunia washed them, and if she dropped one, she was dragged by her ear to wait in the cupboard under the stairs until bedtime, with no meals. Rose also weeded the garden with her, swept and scrubbed the kitchen floor, picked up after Dudley when he threw his toys, brought Uncle Vernon his newspapers, mail, and tea, gathered trash from all the rooms and the Dursleys' cars, set the table, brought in the milk, stacked the dirty dishes for Aunt Petunia to wash – and all this all the while she was looking after Harry, because Aunt Petunia refused to pay more the bare minimum amount of attention to him, and  _ Merlin,  _ Rose had never known that her little brother  _ needed so, so much _ . 

  
  


So Rose also learned how to feed him spoonfuls of mushy baby food (and how to clean up when he made a mess, so she would still be allowed to feed him later), and how to keep him out of the way while she was working. This got more difficult, as Harry was getting bigger and starting to crawl a lot, and Rose was trying her best to continue Mummy and Daddy's walking lessons up in their room, to very little success. Whenever she could, Rose put him up in Dudley's high chair whenever the other baby wasn't in it, and that kept Harry from tumbling into buckets of dirty mop water.

  
  


Then Dudley turned three, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon invited all of his classmates from nursery school and all of Uncle Vernon's friends from work  _ and _ all the neighbors and all the neighbors' children, made a  _ big _ cake with  _ big _ sparkling candles in it, and pudding and trifle and all the things one could possibly expect from a child's dream birthday. Dudley got very excited, of course, running up and down the halls with shrieks of laughter.

  
  


After Rose helped Aunt Petunia clean for company and set everything up, she was told to take her brother with her to their room, stay upstairs, be quiet, and pretend they didn't exist. 

  
  


It was boring, and awful of them to do, especially since Rose also had to clean up after a party she hadn't been allowed to attend. (There hadn't even been any cake left!) But Rose had known her parents, and her other aunties and uncles (whose names and faces she barely remembered, but she missed them anyway) and she  _ knew _ that  _ this _ Aunt and  _ this _ Uncle were the  _ worst people ever _ and would tell Harry as much while she (tried to) read to him from the sole Muggle picture book Mummy had kept to read to them ( _ Goodnight Moon _ ), and the only one of theirs saved from Aunt Petunia's magic purge. Rose couldn't actually read, and also couldn't quite remember how it went, and probably mixed some of it up with her Beedle stories, but Harry was a baby and he wouldn't know the difference. It seemed to work better than just shushing him, anyway.

  
  


Before Rose even knew it, it was May the tenth, and that meant it was  _ her _ birthday, and she was turning _ FIVE _ . There was no way they were going to celebrate it the way they had Dudley's third, but she was cautiously optimistic that there might at least be  _ cake _ .

  
  


But there was no such luck. Rose came down the stairs that morning to find that Uncle Vernon hadn't even known it was her birthday, and Aunt Petunia's present, wrapped in newspaper and twine, was a patched, worn old denim jacket far too big for her. Aunt Petunia insisted irritably that she would grow into it, and she wouldn't need another jacket for years now, but wearing it was like trying to swim in a pair of Uncle Vernon's jeans. Aunt Petunia had called her an ungrateful brat when she took it off.

  
  


Otherwise, the day was like any other. With no cake to be had, Rose had taken upstairs a spare piece of paper and sadly drawn a birthday cake with five lit candles on it. 

  
  


She tried to blow them out, like Daddy had been able to do with a picture he'd drawn for his own birthday, but she couldn't, and Rose cried for a while, thinking Aunt Petunia must have taken away her own magic as well. 

  
  


A few more short months passed, and then it was July the thirty-first! (Rose could count up to fifty, and she was very proud of this.) That meant Harry was turning two years old, and having seen what their family had done for her birthday, Rose wanted to do better. Harry was  _ her _ baby brother, and the  _ cutest _ , and therefore the  _ best _ baby in the world, and if anyone deserved a big birthday bash with cake and presents and trifle, it was him. 

  
  


So, after the chores were done for the morning, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had settled down to watch telly in the lounge, Rose crept downstairs to the kitchen.

  
  


She tried to be as quiet as possible – if she was caught, it'd be the cupboard or worse. She got out a big bowl, a spoon, all the white powders in the pantry, butter and eggs. Rose only ever remembered seeing her mummy use magic to make cakes, but she knew you didn't  _ need _ it to make a cake, and she was going to try.

  
  


After tying a dish towel round her middle like an apron, she got a stool to stand on, and got to work on the counter. Rose wasn't sure how much of each white powder she needed, so to be safe she poured as much as possible from each container while not using all of it. 

  
  


She thought she remembered Mummy using three eggs, so she tried to crack each one softly, but they just wouldn't open without making noise, so Rose ended up putting them in the bowl with the powder and crushing them with the spoon. Seeing the pieces in the bowl and realizing her mistake, she tried to pick out as many fragments of the shell as possible, but there were just so many of them! Rose moved on to the butter, as she supposed it couldn't hurt much if there was some left in (perhaps it dissolved?). 

  
  


The butter was actually the hardest – it was straight from the fridge, and Rose couldn't mash it no matter how hard she pressed with the spoon. In the end, she had to assume that it was just supposed to be like that, and tried to move on to the next step: mixing.

  
  


Rose wasn't sure how long she would need to mix – it looked nothing like the creamy, appetizing batter that Mummy had always poured into the tin at the end, and more like a damp, lumpy pile of white dust.

  
  


Rose gasped in realization, and then she sneezed, as she had inhaled some of the powder. Cream! Mummy had used milk! She hopped off the stool to go get it.

  
  


Unfortunately, the sneeze was louder than she had accounted for. As Rose opened the door to the fridge again, she found herself being suddenly yanked backward by the neck of her shirt. 

  
  


“ _ What the hell are you doing? _ ” Aunt Petunia hissed, grabbing her arm by her wrist.

  
  


“Let go of me, it hurts!” Rose cried.

  
  


Aunt Petunia, still clutching Rose's arm, whirled around, taking in the mess that the five-year-old had made, her face as white as a sheet. She grabbed both of the little girl's arms and snarled in her face, “You will  _ never _ ,  _ ever _ speak of this, understand? You are going to clean this mess up, and then you are going straight in the cupboard until after supper.”

  
  


“But-”

  
  


“But nothing! I don't care what you thought you were doing, you are never going to do it again! Now throw out whatever you've put in that bowl, and for God's sake, don't bloody cry about it!”

  
  


Aunt Petunia made her scrape what would've been Harry's birthday cake into the bin, ignoring her niece's tear-stained face, and dragged her into the cupboard, slamming the door. Rose was left angrily sobbing to herself in the dark.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


A few weeks after that incident, Aunt Petunia had dragged her to the kitchen by her ear. “If you want to cook, you're going to damn well learn how to do it without destroying my kitchen!” she had told Rose, and then had begun making a roast, forcing the girl to watch and pay attention to each and every step. Aunt Petunia made Rose repeat the recipe back to her every other step, and pinched her arm hard whenever Rose got it wrong, telling her to start over.

  
  


Aunt Petunia did the same thing the next day, and the next, and next, and at the end of each meal, she would make Rose repeat the process of that day's dinner, and yesterday's. Rose supposed that this was supposed to teach her to cook, but her aunt had told her she wasn't allowed to cook on her own until she was tall enough to reach the stove. She was grumpy about being made to stick with something so useless and boring, but if it meant she could bake Harry a birthday cake one day, Rose supposed she could bear it.

  
  


Months flew by. September came and went. 

  
  


The weather grew colder, and colder, and colder, and the sky grew darker, and darker, and darker as the days shortened. 

  
  


In mid-October, Rose started to cry at night again. She wasn't sure why, and no matter what she did, she found that she just couldn't stop. So, she learned to cry quietly, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she gulped down her wails, under the covers and in the moments away from Aunt Petunia she could steal now and then. 

  
  


Two-year-old Harry, who had mastered walking, and was learning more words and looking around much more at his surroundings, would touch her face at night and ask, “Rosie?” with a concerned expression on his chubby little face, and she would try to smile, though she sometimes struggled to remember how.

  
  


Day by day, her tears increased, with a strange mixture of sadness and fear that Rose couldn't understand, had never known before. As Halloween decorations took over Privet Drive and the shops around Surrey that Aunt Petunia dragged her to, she began to have nightmares. 

  
  


The first time she remembered one, she finally realized why.

  
  


In the dream, she was stuck in the cupboard under the stairs, only outside the cupboard, through the vent slats, she didn't see the inside of Aunt Petunia's house, but Harry's nursery, back home. She could see Mummy's legs, and hear Harry cooing above her as the door to the nursery opened with a bang. 

  
  


Rose knew who it was. She knew what was going to happen. But she couldn't do anything, because Mummy had told her she  _ had to _ be quiet, and  _ had to _ be still. 

  
  


All she could do was sit in the cupboard, so, so scared, and watch Mummy slump to the floor, blocking her view ( _ dead now, she was dead _ ) and hear the man's steps as he came closer and closer to the crib - 

  
  


And that was when she had started awake, crying and shaking. 

  
  


Last year, she had looked out the window curiously at all the children outside in costumes, and asked Daddy why they were wearing those things. He had told her that they were going around in costumes, from house to house, and people were giving them candy. Rose had immediately wanted to go out and do that, of course, but Daddy had gently told her that she couldn't, that it was very dangerous, and someone bad would see her and hurt her. Maybe in a few years, she could.

  
  


Rose had thrown a tantrum, and run up to sulk in her room, until Mummy had come up and lured her out with the promise of candy in the lounge, even if she couldn't go out and trick-or-treat. She couldn't even remember what they did in the lounge, what games they had played, what candy they had eaten. Just that soon after, the door had crashed open, Daddy had yelled, Mummy had clutched her close, picked her and Harry up, and run upstairs.

  
  


Daddy was gone, Mummy was gone, and now she was little, and alone, and hiding scared, trapped.

  
  


She had Harry, of course, but she didn't really  _ have _ him. He had her. Rose had no one.

  
  


Halloween came. As the sun set, Rose watched the trick-or-treaters outside from her window, then drew the curtains closed. 

  
  


Aunt Petunia had gone out with Dudley. Harry was asleep already, and Rose didn't move, didn't tear her gaze away from the door, didn't dare speak, even to herself. She didn't sleep that night.

  
  


Nothing awful happened. She didn't die, she didn't lose Harry. The sun rose, and she almost screamed when Aunt Petunia banged on the door that morning, calling for her to wake the hell up, but Rose survived, and didn't lose what little left she had.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


Her first Christmas at Privet Drive wasn't as bad as Rose was expecting. 

  
  


Somehow, it wasn't as horrible as last year's; that new, too-quiet Christmas without her Mummy and Daddy, and at a stranger's house as well. However, hearing Aunt Petunia tell Dudley that a man called Father Christmas was going to give him presents for being such a good boy this year made her want to scream – how could she  _ lie _ to her own kid like that?

  
  


Rose knew her aunt was lying, because magic people didn't have Father Christmas – Mummy and Daddy had told her that mummies and daddies gave their kids lots of presents on Christmas because they were little and they loved them lots, and they'd never  _ lied,  _ like a  _ stupid mean bully _ , and told her a man was breaking into the house while she slept.

  
  


That thought had made her feel a little sick, when she overheard Aunt Petunia describe it. 

  
  


She and Harry would get no presents from 'Father Christmas' of course, because they had been 'very bad children.' Rose knew perfectly well she had been nothing but good all year, aside from the one tantrum she'd thrown, and she tried to tell Aunt Petunia that that wasn't fair, but all that had gotten her was being called ungrateful again.

  
  


Well, Rose  _ wasn't  _ grateful. And maybe that made her a bad little girl, but she couldn't imagine how being out on the street was any worse than living in this house.

  
  


It was this thought that gave her a startling inspiration, one winter night as she was drifting off to sleep. Harry wasn't old enough to run away just yet, but once he was able to walk and talk, they could leave this place! They could go far, far away, just the two of them, and be happy somewhere else. They wouldn't have to live with mean Aunt Petunia and scary Uncle Vernon – they could find one of their other aunts or uncles (Rose wasn't entirely sure how many of them there had been anymore). They could have magic back!

  
  


These plans were forgotten as soon as she awoke the next morning, losing all form and detail, but the seed of the idea remained, buried deep in her dreams, growing roots.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


That Christmas morning, Dudley woke up his parents (and Rose and Harry in the next room) with gleeful screaming. Harry had learned to be quiet, but his face still scrunched up like he was about to cry.

  
  


He needed new clothes, Rose thought as Dudley rocketed downstairs ahead of them. She'd been trying to tell Aunt Petunia for months, he'd gotten much too big for his old ones – he was wearing her shirts these days, as swamped in the fabric as she was in the denim jacket. Despite how much was being kept from him that Dudley was getting, Rose's heart swelled with pride as he held her hand going downstairs. Her little brother had grown so much! He was walking, running even, talking sometimes, and he had even just learned to use the potty! 

  
  


(Aunt Petunia had taught her to potty-train him. The nappies she bought for Harry were cheap, and they fell apart quickly, so he couldn't wear them for long. Uncle Vernon had complained about the smell, and roared at Aunt Petunia about the cost of the nappies. He'd broken three plates against the wall when he had first done the numbers – the next day, Aunt Petunia had taken Rose aside, told her to watch her while she was potty-training Dudley, and then do the same with her brother.)

  
  


Harry had learned quickly, and soon he didn't need to wear nappies anymore! He was so _good_ , he was so much better than Dudley! _How dare Aunt Petunia say he isn't!_ Rose thought.

  
  


When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she hugged him tight. Harry looked up at her through his soft, shaggy hair inquiringly, and Rose shook her head and kissed him on the forehead as she sat him down, and went into the kitchen for another of Aunt Petunia's cooking lessons, which had now extended to lunch and breakfast. 

  
  


Dudley didn't even bother waiting for breakfast - he tore open his presents with impatient fervor, not even sparing a moment to marvel over one before moving on to the next. There were robots, trains, plastic soldiers, blocks, tinker toys, and nearly a hundred other things that Rose couldn't name. When the robot had moved, she had quietly gasped.  _ Dudley  _ got magic toys, and they  _ didn't _ ? That was so  _ stupid _ and  _ not _ fair!

  
  


(A few weeks later, it ran out of batteries, and for some reason, Rose felt a little silly for being so jealous.)

  
  


Off to the side, as far away from the Christmas tree as they could get, were two newspaper-wrapped packages, which Aunt Petunia kicked towards them when she saw Rose and Harry standing in the doorway.

  
  


“Well?” she demanded, and Rose hurriedly opened one.

  
  


Inside, she recognized some of Dudley's old clothes, from when he was the same size as Harry. Shirts, trousers, pants, socks and even a pair of shoes. They were worn, but still wearable. 

  
  


“That's for the boy,” Aunt Petunia said. “I'm not getting him anything new. After this, he can make do with your old things.” She glared down at Rose.

  
  


By now, Rose knew what Aunt Petunia wanted to hear. “Thank you so much, Aunt Petunia.” She tapped her little brother's shoulder, and anxiously brought him closer, handing him his 'new' clothes. “Harry, tell Aunt Petunia thank you.” She could hate Rose as much as she liked, but Rose didn't want her to be as mean to Harry as she was to her.

  
  


Harry looked up at a space slightly to the left of Aunt Petunia, smiled toothily and said, “Thanks, Auntie!”

  
  


Aunt Petunia stiffened as he did this, and quickly looked away from him. Rose started opening the smaller one, which she supposed must be for her.

  
  


For Christmas, Rose got a pair of corduroy trousers a size too large, and an ugly, rusty green safety pin that it looked like she could spear a small apple on. “Thanks, Aunt Petunia,” Rose said dully, and Aunt Petunia had hmphed, but then at least ignored her, and turned away to watch Dudley again. 

  
  


Rose quietly took Harry back up to their room while the Dursleys merrily opened Christmas crackers downstairs. It was difficult, trying to teach him to put the clothes on, but they managed. Dudley's clothes were still a little big for him, but they fit better than Rose's shirts.

  
  


Rose wished that she could give Harry a present, too. Something more special than just clothes.  _ Next year _ , she promised him in her head. Next year, she would make Christmas better.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


The next day was Boxing Day, a day that Rose had never heard of and didn't understand. When she had asked what Boxing Day was, all that had earned her was a scoff from Aunt Petunia and a  _ harrumph _ from Uncle Vernon, and no explanation. So far as she could tell, all Boxing Day meant was that Uncle Vernon's sister Marge was coming for dinner.

  
  


'Aunt' Marge looked almost exactly like Uncle Vernon if he was a girl. Rose didn't see why she had to call the woman 'Aunt,' since she was Uncle Vernon's sister, and Uncle Vernon was  _ barely _ her uncle by being married to Aunt Petunia. Rose would far rather have called her 'Madam Walrus,' or failing that, 'Miss Dursley.' But asking if she could call 'Aunt' Marge 'Miss Dursley' meant that she got her ear twisted by Aunt Petunia, who said she “needed to pay Marge proper respect!”

  
  


Once she had come in, finished cooing over Dudley, and settled down in the lounge, Uncle Vernon had waved his hand in Rose's direction, introducing her as “that  _ niece _ of Petunia's I told you about,” and Aunt Marge had given her exactly the same glare that Uncle Vernon had given her when she first got to Privet Drive. Clearly, this was yet another grown-up who wouldn't be her friend.

  
  


Uncle Vernon had immediately begun complaining. “They're a useless waste of money, the both of them. Don't know why Petunia couldn't have just handed them off on Welfare – I shouldn't have to spend my own hard-earned salary on brats who aren't even my own children.”

  
  


Aunt Petunia served the tea as Rose put a tray of biscuits on the table. “The girl's some use at least,” she confided in Marge as though Rose wasn't even there. “Saves me time around the house, when I can set her at something she won't turn upside-down.”

  
  


Rose knew better than to say anything, but she could at least clench her fists behind her back. Her eyes felt very hot, and she wanted nothing more than to run away, but Aunt Petunia's glare told her to stay, or else. 

  
  


As the conversation between the adults moved on to Aunt Marge's new interest in breeding pit bulls (whatever those were), Dudley, from his seat on Uncle Vernon's lap and unseen by everyone else, was oddly quiet, looking from Aunt Marge, to Petunia, to Rose in the corner, to his mother, to Aunt Marge, to his mother again, to Rose struggling not to cry in the corner again. A connection was already forming in his little toddler mind, and he didn't even know yet what it meant.


	3. Chapter Two: The First Seven Years, Part 2

**Chapter Two: The First Seven Years: Part 2**

  
  


New Years came and went, and it was 1983.

  
  


March twenty-third came and went, and Dudley turned four. That birthday was even bigger than his third, with even more presents and an even bigger cake. Rose and Harry spent the party up in their room as well, coloring with the remains of Rose's crayons (which, in spite of how much he'd grown up, she  _ still _ had to keep Harry from chewing on). 

  
  


May the tenth came and went, meaning Rose turned six. There was still no cake, and since she'd grown, Aunt Petunia gave her another set of clothes. It was just a weird orange skirt, a pair of leggings that were too long, and an itchy, patched-up sweater, but none of this was surprising to Rose, just disappointing. The real shock came with Aunt Petunia's announcement after she folded the clothes away.

  
  


“What do you mean, I have to go school in September?”

  
  


“You're six years old,” Aunt Petunia snapped, as she slammed the saucepan down on the stovetop. “You have to go, Monday through Friday. It's the law, so don't whine at  _ me _ .”

  
  


“But- but Harry will be all on his own!”

  
  


Aunt Petunia looked down at her stonily. “I'm not a monster, girl. I'll make sure he's fed and stays out of trouble. And speaking of trouble,” the stony look turned into an outright snarl, “You're not to cause any while you're away from this house. And that means keeping your stupid little mouth  _ shut _ , as well as behaving. Understood?”

  
  


Rose nodded mutely, though protest surged in her newly six-year-old chest. She'd  _ promised _ the nice old man she'd behave – even if Rose thought he was stupid to leave them, she'd  _ promised _ , and Mummy and Daddy had told her to always,  _ always _ keep a promise. She had no idea why Aunt Petunia always seemed to expect her to misbehave and be a brat; she'd only ever thrown a tantrum on purpose  _ once _ . 

  
  


“The primary school is five blocks down the lane,” Aunt Petunia continued, going back to the saucepan and pouring in milk. “You see it every day. You'll walk there weekdays at eight, and walk back when it's done for the day. It's so simple, an idiot could do it.”

  
  


Rose had doubts. Mummy had said that she would  _ love _ school when she was old enough to go – but Mummy was talking about  _ magic _ school, and this was  _ not _ going to be a magic school. 

  
  


Then again, however bad it was, it was probably still better than this house. 

  
  


July thirty-first came and went, and Harry turned three. Rose was still not quite tall enough to reach the stove, but she was getting there. She couldn't use Daddy's measuring tape to see how tall she was anymore, so that was how she could tell she was growing. She liked to imagine Mummy and Daddy being proud that she'd gotten to be so tall.

  
  


Up in their room that night, with what little remained of her crayons (just a few stubs of white, yellow and orange left), she drew Harry a birthday cake and had him try to blow the candles out – even if she couldn't be magic anymore, maybe he still could. 

  
  


It didn't work, but he was still very small – he might be able to do magic when he got to be Rose's age. At least, she hoped so, very much. There was a small, squirming fear in the back of her mind somewhere, but Rose wasn't very sure what it meant.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


September the fifth came – the first Monday of that term, and Rose Potter's very first day as a student at any kind of school.

  
  


When Aunt Petunia woke her up that morning, she'd tossed a flimsy, patched-up backpack at Rose. “For your books and homework,” she said tersely, and spooned a single egg onto a slice of toast for Rose's breakfast. 

  
  


Rose was shoved out the door the moment she was finished, and she was barely able to give a hasty goodbye to Harry, who looked up at her in confusion and alarm as the front door shut in her face. 

  
  


Rose was scared as she turned to look down the street at the school. It looked very far away, much further than Aunt Petunia had made it out to be. It was certainly further than Rose had ever been on her own – if Mummy and Daddy had been alive, and saying goodbye with Harry, and watching her go off to school, she might've felt brave enough to do it. 

  
  


But Rose was, as always, alone.

  
  


She gulped, and took the first step down the pavement.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


When she reached the first crossing, Rose found herself frozen in place, knees quaking. She'd never crossed the street alone before. Aunt Petunia would always refuse to hold her hand, but she hadn't  _ ever  _ had to cross  _ by herself _ . 

  
  


The road stretched out before her, vast and implacable. 

  
  


Rose gulped.

  
  


If she didn't cross, she'd never get to school. If she waited too long to cross, she would be late.

  
  


If either of those things happened, she'd be locked in the cupboard overnight for sure, at the very least. 

  
  


Harry would have to go to bed on his own. Harry didn't know how to go to bed on his own.

  
  


With every scary thought that tumbled into Rose's head, the crossing seemed to get longer and longer, the school further and further away, and Rose herself felt smaller and smaller. She could hear nothing but the pounding in her ears and her own halting, panicked breaths - 

  
  


A loud horn sounded from her right, and Rose jumped. 

  
  


She was too short to see the driver, but the left turn light was blinking, did that mean they were waiting for her to cross? Rose gulped. 

  
  


Mummy and Daddy had always told her that she had to be brave if she had to do something scary. If she was brave enough to live with Aunt Petunia, she  _ had _ to be brave enough to cross the street. 

  
  


She screwed up her face, closed her eyes, took a few steps back, and ran as fast as she could.

  
  


Before Rose even knew it, she was tripping over the curb onto the pavement on the other side. “OW!” She'd hit the ground chin-first, and as she scrambled up onto her feet, she felt the stinging scrape she'd gotten, Rose was glad to find there wasn't any blood. 

  
  


There was a quick “BEEP BEEP” from the car as it turned, Rose was now far enough away to see that it was the old lady who lived next door, and she waved goodbye as she rushed down the path to school, getting a little wave in return as Mrs. Figg went on down the lane.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


She got through the next few crossings in much the same way, though she thankfully learned to put her hands out in front so she didn't land on her face. Rose was aware she probably looked very odd as she got closer to the school, drawing some stares from parents and kids, but she was almost there! It didn't really matter, so long as it got her across.

  
  


(Later in the week, the mum of one of her classmates kindly showed her how one 'properly' crossed the street, carefully looking both ways and all that. Rose still thought her own way was less scary, but she could see why it was better.)

  
  


After she got to the school, Rose wasn't sure what to do or where she was supposed to go. All the parents seemed to be kissing their kids goodbye, and all the kids seemed to be begging them not to leave them alone. 

  
  


Tears pricked at the edges of Rose's eyes, and her face felt hot. 

  
  


“Well hello there, little miss! What class are you in?”

  
  


Leaning over her, with her hands on her knees, was a tall, skinny lady with a broad, friendly smile and a halo of frizzy black hair, much curlier than Rose's own. Rose quickly rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. “Erm, I don't know.”

  
  


“Well, where are your mum and dad? Maybe they can tell me?”

  
  


Rose shook her head very fast, and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “They're dead.”

  
  


“Oh,” The lady's smile softened and shrank a little as she knelt down. “Well, is there anyone else?”

  
  


“There's my Aunt Petunia, but she didn't come with me. I walked here,” Rose added proudly, feeling a little braver at the thought of this accomplishment.

  
  


“My goodness! You must be very smart to be able to make your way on your own like that.” The lady stood up and brushed off her trousers as Rose beamed under the praise, picking up a clipboard that was on the ground beside her. “What's your name then, sweetheart? Maybe I can find you on the roster.”

  
  


“I'm Rose Potter!” Rose answered with a smug satisfaction. She felt very clever right now, for knowing her own name, although she wouldn't have been able to say exactly why.

  
  


The lady flipped through the papers on the clipboard with a smile. “Pleased to meet you, Rose! Potter, Rose – ah! There you are. You're in Reception, Class R-C, which is my class!” The lady held out a hand to Rose. “That means I'm your teacher. I'm Miss Holstein!”

  
  


Rose eagerly shook Miss Holstein's offered hand. “Pleased to meet you!”

  
  


“Now Rose, class is about to start. I'll show you to the room where I'll be teaching you, and then I'm going to go round up everyone else as well. Is that alright?”

  
  


Rose nodded. Miss Holstein took her by the hand, and they went together.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


The classroom was a bright yellow, with red and green paper caterpillars pinned to the walls. Miss Holstein showed her a desk in the front with a piece of paper taped to it, and told her that by the end of today, Rose was going to be able to write her name on it, so the six-year-old was bouncing with excitement by the time the door opened again to let in the rest of the class. 

  
  


Miss Holstein started by telling them all to introduce themselves to the kids next to them. There was a blonde boy sitting to Rose's right, whose name was Laurie, and he was five; there was also another six-year-old, a brown-haired girl with pigtails and freckles on Rose's left, and her name was Patty. 

  
  


Laurie was very quiet, and Patty, who lived across the street from him, told Rose very confidently that he was just shy, but he would be friends with her anyway, and Laurie said nothing to the contrary. Rose watched in bewilderment as behind her, Patty introduced her brother Paul, who looked  _ just exactly _ like her, but without pigtails. 

  
  


Not even Harry looked  _ that _ much like his sister, and she told them so. Paul giggled, but Patty was miffed, and proceeded to detail every little tiny difference between herself and her brother, but then Miss Holstein rang a little bell on her desk, and Patty whispered, “You'll come play with us at break!” and before Rose could ask about what she meant by being so bossy, Miss Holstein started telling them about letters.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


The first half of class passed quickly. Rose was still singing the Alphabet Song as she went out to the lunch tables with Patty and Paul, until Patty asked, “Where's  _ your _ lunch, Rose?”

  
  


Rose, seeing the red and blue lunchboxes Patty and Paul had with them, skipped back into the classroom to retrieve her backpack from the cubbyhole and check to see if Aunt Petunia had given her anything. There was nothing in it but a notebook, two pencils, and a few pence in a little bag. Reporting this back to Patty, her new friend decided that this meant Rose was supposed to buy lunch at the cafeteria. 

  
  


Rose didn't really know any other kids her age, but she had already decided that Patty was the smartest person she knew, aside from Miss Holstein. 

  
  


After Paul asked directions from an older student, they found the school cafeteria. As they got in line, Rose saw that she was the only kid in reception year who didn't have a homemade lunch. She figured that this probably meant she was the only one who didn't have a mum and dad, but when she saw the cafeteria had jam roly-poly, Rose was too happy to care very much.

  
  


School, she decided, was the  _ best _ . Mummy had been so right!

  
  


She sat down with Patty and Paul, and Laurie came sidling up to them quietly with his tuna sandwiches, softly asking if any of them wanted to trade. Rose was perfectly happy with her lunch of only sweets, but Patty and Paul were trading with Laurie, and it seemed like she ought to, just to be nice. Paul confided to her that Laurie's mum was strict about what he ate, and never let him have sweets. Rose got the feeling that it was different from Aunt Petunia not letting her have sweets, but she sympathized anyway, and traded him a chocolate bar for half a sandwich. 

  
  


And after they finished eating lunch, Patty told Rose it was time to play! Rose hadn't gotten to play outside in ages and ages, so she eagerly followed the others into the yard.

  
  


In between playing Hide-and-Seek and going down the slide over and over again, Rose asked Patty how she knew so much about school.

  
  


Patty had blinked. “Didn't you go to nursery school?”

  
  


“Er... No.” Rose felt a little alarmed – Dudley had been going to nursery school this whole time – was she supposed to have been in nursery school? Had she missed anything?

  
  


Surprisingly enough, it was Laurie who answered, coming up behind them with his book in his hands (He'd already learned to read before coming, and Rose was very envious). “It's okay, Rose. I didn't go to nursery school either. Lots of kids don't.”

  
  


Rose didn't really find this as comforting as she might have (Laurie  _ was _ afraid of Hide-and-Seek), but she supposed at least she hadn't missed anything.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


Break was over too soon, and Patty, Paul and Laurie trudged disappointedly back into the classroom with the rest of the class. Rose, on the other hand, bounced eagerly back in, and spent the rest of the afternoon diligently drawing letters on paper with crayon.

  
  


School was also over too soon. At the end of the day, on the piece of paper taped to her desk, true to her teacher's promise, Rose had carefully drawn a scraggly R – O – S – E – P in bright red. (Miss Holstein had told her to add the P, so if there were any other Roses at school, no one would get confused.)

  
  


They all filed out the door with their backpacks on (after Rose had snuck a few crayons from the classroom into hers) and the four of them parted with the promise to play together again tomorrow. Her new friends skipped off to their parents' cars, and Rose faced the walk leading to Privet Drive, once again alone.

  
  


Rose found herself dreading getting home. The only good thing waiting for her there was Harry, and while she felt a spike of guilt at not wanting to go home to him, the thought of going back to Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley, after having experienced the paradise of learning how to read and write, just made her miserable.

  
  


Rose scuffed her shoe against the pavement, biting her lip.

  
  


She'd made new friends today, learned how to spell and write her name. At school, she'd been happier than she'd been in a long, long time.

  
  


And she would be going back tomorrow morning!

  
  


It was this thought that heartened her and set her on the path home to Harry. If she could go back to school tomorrow, she could put up with her horrible family for a while. The whole way home, Rose sang the Alphabet Song and spelled her name quietly to herself, thinking about what she and Harry could do with the new crayons in her backpack.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


Everything was normal again when she got home. She cleaned up trash, helped Aunt Petunia with the washing, was forced to listen to and repeat every little step to making pork pie, and was only finally released when Rose told Aunt Petunia she had homework. (She didn't – Miss Holstein said she was going to wait to assign homework until tomorrow, but she was anxious to get away. Rose tried to bat away her guilt at having lied by telling herself that Aunt Petunia was mean and awful and  _ absolutely _ deserved to be lied to. It seemed to work, for the most part.)

  
  


Rose was relieved to find Harry in one piece up in their room. “Rosie!” Harry bounced down to throw his arms around her middle. “Where'd you go?”

  
  


“I went to school! I'm gonna have to go every day, but don't worry! When you're a big kid like me, you'll get to go too!”

  
  


“I wanna go  _ now! _ ” Harry cried, “Don't leave again, Rosie, please please please!”

  
  


Rose hugged her little brother back. “I'm sorry, Harry, but I've gotta. I can't stay all the time.”

  
  


“Why?”

  
  


“Well – I – because! Aunt Petunia says so, and there's other people who told  _ her _ so.”

  
  


“Why?”

  
  


Rose didn't know the answer this time, and felt a little desperate. “Well, um – do you wanna draw, Harry? I got us new colors!” 

  
  


“Blue?” Harry asked hopefully, peering up at her. He was always trying to draw the sky, and he hadn't had any blue for a while. Rose had thought of this while stealing crayons, and with a grin, she produced a whole handful of blue crayons. 

  
  


The two siblings gleefully set to work drawing pictures on the paper from Rose's notebooks. It had lines, so it wasn't very good, but Harry didn't seem to mind. But as she sat down with her own notebook and her new purple crayon, Rose couldn't think about anything but letters. She thought of the labeled toy boxes in Dudley's room, of the labeled desks in her classroom, of her own name on the roster that she'd never even seen. And Rose had an idea.

  
  


She drew carefully, trying to make the letters nice and big, when she was done writing, she put little purple flowers in the corners, too. Rose took the piece of paper, and left the room to find tape. When she got back, Rose stood on the tips of her toes, and taped the piece of paper up as high as she could reach. She stepped back, pleased with herself, and went back inside to keep drawing and practicing writing with Harry.

  
  


On the outside of the door, was now a piece of lined paper, torn out of a notebook and unevenly taped to the door by the top corners, which read: ROSE AND HARRYS ROOM.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


Rose quickly settled into the routine of going to school. 

  
  


Mornings began with a hasty breakfast, a kiss goodbye to her little brother, and a mad dash to class. She would sit and learn about reading and writing, and if Miss Holstein asked them to get into groups for something fun, Rose would always pick Patty, Paul and Laurie. 

At lunch, she would use the few pence Aunt Petunia begrudgingly gave her to buy sweets, which she would trade with Laurie for his lovingly-made (if a bit soggy) sandwiches. At break, they would all play, and sometimes just talk-pretend, so Laurie could still have fun. Rose would read books, too (Miss Holstein said that if she ever wanted to learn more than she learned in class, she could go to the school library and read whatever she wanted!) and she was getting better at reading every day. After break, they'd return to class, and they'd either learn maths, or they'd have arts and crafts and play with clay (which was Paul's favorite). 

  
  


And after the school day was over, Patty and Paul would go home with their mum and dad, and Laurie would go home with his mum, and Rose would walk home on her own. When she got home, she'd get accosted by Aunt Petunia to do a bucketload of chores, then go upstairs to do her homework while Harry played with clay and paper toys she'd made in arts and crafts, and after she was done she'd join him. 

Then they would go downstairs, have their little portion of dinner (even between the two of them, it was always, always smaller than Dudley's, and Rose would scrape some of her food onto Harry's plate whenever she could) and they would go to bed, and then the next morning Rose would wake up and do it all again.

  
  


This had made Rose's life much less miserable by far, and she hadn't been so happy since before her Mum and Dad had died. The less time she had to spend being ordered around by Aunt Petunia, the better.

  
  


Though, she probably was the only kid who didn't look forward to the weekends. Aunt Petunia worked her to the bone when she was at home (a phrase she had learned reading books in the library at school!) and she didn't get to have any fun like her friends did out of school. 

  
  


Patty had demanded to know why she couldn't come and visit them on the weekend. Rose had wanted to tell her that she had asked Aunt Petunia, and Aunt Petunia had said she wasn't allowed to leave the house for anything except school, but - 

  
  


_ Keep your stupid little mouth shut. Understood? _

  
  


So Rose just told Patty that her Aunt Petunia was old and needed lots of help (it wasn't a lie, really) but Patty wanted to come over with Paul – she said maybe they could help Rose help her aunt, and so Rose found herself in a bit of a bind, because she was pretty sure Aunt Petunia wouldn't want them at the house, either. So she told Patty that her Aunt Petunia was also grouchy and hated kids. It was true (she at least hated her and Harry, and they were kids) and also probably not something Aunt Petunia really wanted her to say, but - 

  
  


_ Keep your stupid little mouth shut. _

  
  


So Rose had to avoid explaining at every turn. Even if she could explain, Rose had no idea how she  _ would _ .

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


October arrived. The days got shorter. The nights got colder. 

  
  


Rose's nightmares returned.

  
  


On the day of the thirty-first, Miss Holstein had a lesson about Halloween. She asked every kid to draw what they were going to dress up as, and one by one, they would come up to the front and say why they were dressing up that way. Everyone else seemed so excited, Patty and Paul quickly getting out the crayons to draw their twin costumes as Moomins and Laurie started grumpily drawing what looked like a carrot. 

  
  


Rose had no idea what to do. Even if she had thought of a costume, Aunt Petunia would never let her go out to trick-or-treat, not to mention that Harry was too young to go out, and she couldn't just  _ leave _ him.  _ (It wasn’t Safe) _

  
  


Laurie noticed her sitting there, staring at the blank piece of paper. “Why aren't you drawing?” he asked her quietly.

  
  


Rose bit her lip. Laurie was always quiet – she'd never seen him speak to anyone besides their friends and the teacher. Surely he could keep a secret? “I'll tell you why I can't,” she whispered back, leaning closer, “but you've got to promise to keep it a secret.”

  
  


Laurie nodded. “Promise.”

  
  


“I haven't got a costume, I'm not going trick-or-treating.”

  
  


His eyes widened. “Why?”

  
  


“My Aunt Petunia won't let my brother Harry and me go. Also,” her throat felt a little dry, “my mum and dad d - died on Halloween. So I'm too scared to go, even if Aunt Petunia would let me.”

  
  


Rose had never seen anyone's eyes get as big as Laurie's had. As she started to worry that she'd scared him, he gulped, and whispered, “M - Maybe you should tell Miss Holstein that that's what happened. That way you won't have to – have to draw a costume, if you're not going.”

  
  


She hadn't even thought of that! As she slipped out of her chair with relief and turned to thank him, Laurie blurted out: “My dad – he's, er, he's dead, too. I don't remember him, but I miss him.” And he sat there, awkwardly squirming into himself as if he wished he could shrink away and disappear. 

  
  


Rose didn't know what she could say, but she knew what she had always wished someone else had done for her when she had first come to live with Aunt Petunia. She wrapped her arms around Laurie in a hug, and quickly dashed off to talk to Miss Holstein when he froze. As she looked back, she saw that his face was red all over. For some reason, that made Rose feel really warm, like her chest was full of sunlight.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


Nightfall came, and Rose drew the curtains again. She felt a little braver than she had last year, so she turned out the lights so they could go to bed like normal. Harry's grass-green eyes peered up at her as she sat crosslegged on the bed (she had no intention of sleeping). “Rosie, why'd Auntie and Dudley go?”

  
  


Rose bit her lip and hugged Harry close. “They're going trick-or-treating, Harry. Today's Halloween – lots of kids go out in costumes tonight.”

  
  


“Can we go?” Harry looked up at her so hopefully, and Rose felt a rising sense of dread.

  
  


“ _ No _ , Harry!” He looked startled, scared, and as he began to screw up his face to cry, Rose hastened to make him feel better. “N – Not tonight. Just not tonight. One day, when we're bigger and stronger, we can go.” Rose had to gulp back tears, as she remembered, feeling sick, that being bigger and stronger hadn't helped Mum and Dad.

  
  


Harry sniffled a bit and wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve. “Promise?”

  
  


She felt a pang. “I promise.” She would just have to hope that when they finally did, it wouldn't still be dangerous.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


November arrived. The nightmares faded. 

December arrived. Rose started preparing for another miserable Christmas, and trying to figure out how to get Harry a proper Christmas present.

  
  


“You could make him something, like those toys you make in arts and crafts,” Patty suggested, packing more snow against her side of the snowman. Today had been a half day because of the weather, and Aunt Petunia hadn't known, so Rose had gleefully taken the opportunity to go with Patty and Paul to visit. She had gotten to ride there in the car with her friends, and their mum (who was so nice! Rose wished  _ she _ was her aunt) had said she would drive her home when they were done for the day. Aunt Petunia wouldn't be happy, but hopefully Rose could just tell her that they drove her home because of the snow. So they were playing in Patty and Paul's front garden.

  
  


“I make those for him all the time, though – I want it to be  _ special _ .” It would be the only Christmas present he got, after all, besides Aunt Petunia's, and she was sure  _ that _ could barely be called a present. “It'd be great if I could get him a  _ real _ toy, like the ones we used to have.” 

  
  


Patty gave her an odd look, as she did sometimes, and turned back to the drifts in the front yard to start on making the snowman's chest. Rose joined her, stumbling as her foot came halfway out of her boot. (Aunt Petunia had shoved a jacket, scarf and mittens into Rose's arms when it first started snowing in October, all old and ill-fitting) “What about your pocket money?” Patty asked.

  
  


Assuming she meant the money Rose got for lunch, she answered, “I've been saving up a few pence from lunch every day since Halloween, but I don't think it's ever going to be enough. I've got three pounds so far, and all the good ones in the store are at least twenty.”

  
  


Patty's packing and rolling motions slowed. Rose looked up at her questioningly, blinking quickly to try and get the snowflakes out of her eyelashes. Patty was staring at her, and Rose wasn't sure why, but it made her nervous. 

  
  


“I'll ask my mum if we can go to the toy store. I'll chip in with my pocket money.”

  
  


“What? No no, you shouldn't -”

  
  


“Too bad, I'm doing it,” Patty said, turning back to the snow. “It'll be  _ my _ Christmas present to you.”

  
  


Rose's eyes felt a little hot, and she found herself blinking back tears.

  
  


“Hey!” Paul called out from the other side of the garden. They both turned to look at him, and Patty got a snowball to the face for the trouble. 

  
  


“PAUL, YOU  _ BLOODY _ ARSEHOLE!” Rose's eyes widened to the size of saucers at hearing hearing her best friend say  _ such _ a bad word, as Patty jumped up from where she'd fallen in the snow to chase after her cackling brother.

  
  


Their mum shoved open the kitchen window, poking her head out. “Patricia Angeline McReedy, you do  _ not _ get to use such language! You're getting  _ no _ dessert for the next week!” she scolded.

  
  


“LOOK AT WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS!” Patty proceeded to tackle him, grabbing him by the ankles and dragging him to the ground with an  _ oof _ .

  
  


Rose didn't know whether it was Patty saying a bad word, the twins wrangling with each other, or her friend getting so angry over such a small punishment, but she couldn't stop herself from busting out in laughter. “Oh, come on!” Patty protested, “there's nothing funny about this!” and that only made Rose laugh even more, collapsing back into the cold snow, clutching her sides as she giggled. “You're the worst, Rosie!”

  
  


“I thought  _ I _ was the worst,” said Paul, and this got him pelted with another snowball from Patty. 

  
  


The three of them went inside when Mrs. McReedy called, and Rose delightedly discovered that she had made them  _ lunch _ , and Rose's share was a  _ whole sandwich _ ! With crisps and broccoli! She felt a twinge of guilt thinking of Harry at home, while she was here experiencing the luxury that Dudley got to have every day, so she stuffed some of the crisps in her pockets while no one was looking. 

  
  


Mrs. McReedy readily agreed to take them to the toy store, prompting a cascade of gratitude from Rose, which seemed to bemuse her. She drove them to a store Aunt Petunia had never taken Rose to before, and as Rose peered at the price tags for blocky plastic robots and knitted cloth dolls, she was gleefully surprised to find that these toys were much cheaper than the ones she'd seen before. 

  
  


Paul, the resident boy and therefore expert on boys' tastes, was asked all kinds of questions by Patty and Rose, about the merits of cowboys and astronauts versus dinosaurs and so on, and he was greatly annoyed at most of these pesterings, saying he'd rather have a video game, like the older boys at school always talked about.

  
  


“But Harry's three!” Rose pressed. “Don't you remember the kinds of toys you wanted when you were three?”

  
  


“Do  _ you _ ?” he threw back, and Rose realized that in fact, she didn't.

  
  


They decided to get Harry a Mr. Potato Head, which cost five pounds, but Rose ended up gazing longingly at a knitted doll with braids and a purple dress, which Paul then stressed was a girl's toy, but:

  
  


“I  _ know _ that...” she said. “It'd be for  _ me _ . I haven't got one, and the paper ones I make always get crumpled up, and they don't look nice.”

  
  


But this lovely knitted doll cost seven pounds, and Patty, who only had six to contribute to this endeavor, pointed out they wouldn't be able to get it  _ and _ Harry's present. So with a sigh, Rose turned away.

  
  


There was fortunately free giftwrapping available today, and Mrs. McReedy cooed when Rose told the clerk it was for her little brother. The Mr. Potato Head was all wrapped up in a red box, with a nice green bow, and after a hug and a barrage of thanks that made Patty gruff and annoyed, Rose rode home in the car with it in her lap and a smile on her face.

  
  


**_~RP~_ **

  
  


She smuggled the present into her room in her backpack. There was no knowing if it was even  _ allowed _ , after all. She managed to hide it in a part of the wardrobe Harry couldn't reach yet, and then she  _ waited _ .

  
  


Winter break arrived, and with it, more misery for Rose. Harry was very happy that she could stay home with him now, and she was too, but Aunt Petunia's presence only meant more work and dark glares for seemingly nothing. She was never sure if she thought it was worth it to be home with Harry...

  
  


Christmas arrived again, and she and Harry received a pair of overalls and a comb respectively. Aunt Petunia made Rose promise to use it on him, and told her that she'd be cutting his hair soon. This had scared Harry, and after hastily taking him up to their room so he wouldn't get in trouble, Rose assured him that a haircut didn't hurt at all, and distracted him with his present from her. 

  
  


“Wow!” Harry exclaimed, struggling to pull Mr. Potato Head out of the box. 

  
  


“Yeah, you can put the eyes and ears in, and all kinds of different arms too! Just make sure you  _ only  _ play with this here, got it?”

  
  


Harry nodded. “Like the others!”

  
  


“Exactly.” Rose gave him a hug with one arm as he pushed an eye into a leg hole experimentally. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

  
  


“The  _ best _ Christmas!”

  
  


“No, 'cause you guess what? One day there's gonna be an even  _ better _ Christmas!”

  
  


Harry's little eyes widened – he truly couldn't imagine. “How?”

  
  


“Well,” and Rose bit her tongue thoughtfully. “All my friends will be there! And your friends too, 'cause by then you'll have friends of your own. We'll be far, far away from Auntie Petunia.”

  
  


“But we won't get our present!”

  
  


“We don't need presents from  _ her _ , silly! We'll get much, much better presents, from way better people – and there'll be enough Christmas pudding for us to have as much as we want! We'll spend it with – with,” and she struggled to remember a name, any name - “Uncle Peter, and - and Auntie Alice, and a whole bunch of other family! You don't remember, 'cause you were just a baby, but they used to visit all the time!”

  
  


“Why don't they visit now?”

  
  


“I don't know. I think it's because we live with Aunt Petunia – they probably don't wanna visit  _ her _ .”

  
  


“Oh.” And Harry seemed to think about this a moment. “Who did we live with before Auntie?”

  
  


Rose started blinking back tears. “Y'know how – y'know how Dudley calls Auntie and Uncle Mummy and Daddy? We used to – used to have – we used to have a mummy and a daddy too. We lived with them, and they loved us, they loved us very, very,  _ very _ much.”

  
  


“Where'd they go?”

  
  


How was she even going to start? 

  
  


“Um, well – there's a thing, that, um, happens sometimes, to grown-ups – it's, uh, it's called  _ dying _ , and it means they have to go somewhere where they can't ever, ever come back.”

  
  


“Not even to visit?”

  
  


“No, Harry.”

  
  


“Can't we visit them?”

  
  


“No, no we can't, Harry.”

  
  


“Oh.” And Harry sat and thought some more.

  
  


Relieved that he seemed to have stopped, Rose stood up to go to the bathroom. 

  
  


“Why'd they do that?”

  
  


She flinched. 

  
  


“They died – they – they died because – they died because a bad – a bad man came to the house. He made them die. They tried not to, but he made them die.”

  
  


“Why?”

  
  


“Because he was bad, Harry!” Rose had no idea  _ why _ , had never even thought about  _ why _ a terrible, scary man had come to their home and killed Mum and Dad, and she didn't want to think about it, it  _ hurt _ . “He was horrible,  _ that's  _ why! He didn't need any other reason!”

  
  


Harry recoiled, clutching Mr. Potato Head, and shrank away from Rose, who immediately felt guilty for yelling and dropped back to her knees. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry Harry! I'm not angry at you, I'm just sad, I promise! Please don't cry...”

  
  


Harry sniffled, but didn't cry, and Rose put her arms around him again and held him tight. “I loved Mummy and Daddy so very much, and I really, really miss them,” she said softly into his hair – just exactly the same shade of black as Dad's. “They were so special and amazing, Harry. They were the best Mum and Dad ever. And they were  _ magical _ . Don't tell Aunt Petunia I said that,” she added a little hastily, “she hates hearing about it, but they really were  _ magic _ .”

  
  


“What's magic mean?” her little brother asked, his voice muffled in her sweater.

  
  


Rose grinned, and released her grip on him to tell him an even better story than that of the best ever Christmas yet to come.


End file.
